


Love Potion #9

by KassieProphet



Series: Ghost Prompts [26]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Ghost B.C.
Genre: Cunnilingus, Domme, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, F/M, Love Potion/Spell, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging, Vaginal Sex, cock whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22966183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassieProphet/pseuds/KassieProphet
Summary: Tumblr Prompts:NSFW head cannon with the papa’s+cardinal about which love potions they give their fav sister of sin?
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Original Female Character(s), Papa Emeritus I/Original Female Character(s), Papa Emeritus II/Original Female Character(s), Papa Emeritus III/Original Female Character(s), Papa Emeritus Zero | Papa Emeritus Nihil/Sister Imperator
Series: Ghost Prompts [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536134
Comments: 23
Kudos: 36





	Love Potion #9

**Papa Nihil** : [Ed. _I’m going to deviate a little here_ ] He once discovered a potion to bring back lost love from a traveling priestess of Hecate. He was dubious at first, but she gave him a vial with just enough for one dose, which he then surreptitiously put in Sister Imperator’s tea. It worked like—well—a charm. By late afternoon, Imperator was in his office, nothing under her habit but racy red lingerie with garters and a riding crop hidden up her sleeve. She’d made him prostrate himself and kiss her patent Mary Janes while asking for forgiveness. She then made him worship her by having him eat her out on his desk with strict orders he was not to touch himself. Once she was satisfied, she had him kneel at her feet in the nude. Then—as she counted out his Hail Satan’s full of ungrace—she whipped his hard cock with her crop as his penance until he begged her for release. She ordered him to get up and stand against the wall, where she gave him a quick and perfunctory hand job, making him lick his spend off her fingers.

That night, Nihil bought every last drop of potion from the priestess. The priestess left on the next full moon with the warning to use the potion only to coax the cold ashes of their love back into an ember—all of which went into one ear and out the other. Papa is not known for self reflection or a willingness to change his behavior, so he simply got used to putting a drop in her cup every morning. They had a swinging good reunion … until he stopped dosing her (surely she must love him again by now!). No longer under the thrall of the potion, she became suspicious, and when she found the vials …. She became spitting mad and flew at Nihil in a righteous rage, nearly slitting his throat with a wicked letter opener. 

Three Ghouls had to pull her off him! 

In addition to dumping out the contents of the bottles, she made Nihil her slave for the same duration to really hit home what he’d done. (He was smart enough not to tell her that it was actually quite enjoyable for him, especially when the crop made more appearances for correction.) Now, he likes to think they can look back and laugh about it, but everyone else seems to notice her eye twitch when he recounts the “escapade.”

**Papa I** : He just wants to feel that first blush of ardent, youthful love again. His potion is less about creating false feelings and more about amplifying what’s already there. He invites you to his chambers for a quiet meal, the wine goblets both laced with the draught. After the meal is eaten and the wine is drunk, Papa I leads you to his bedchambers, where he slowly undresses you, reverently. Despite his ostentatious, ceremonial vestments, Papa I isn’t a man obsessed with fine things, so under your habit you’re dressed in simple, cotton undergarments (you tried wearing mesh and lace once, but he only perfunctorily complimented you, then took them off). As he slips off your bra and panties, he makes sure to run a light touch over your nipples and your ass. It makes you shiver, your skin goosepimpling. As he bends to help you out of your panties, he places a chaste kiss on each ankle bone. Then your calves. Then the inside of your knee. Soon he’s kneeling, hands traveling up your haunches, so he can reach first the inside of your thighs before placing a kiss to the lips of your cunt. He’d probably even be happy to eat you out like that, but you pull him up by his vestments—eager to remove them—and the two of you share a deepening kiss before tumbling onto the bed. 

He makes love to you slow and close, whispering praises into your skin—and then the feelings hit you like an explosion. He must feel them too, because all of a sudden you’re both gasping and clutching at each other for dear life. You feel such overwhelming love for this man! The sun rises and the moon set with him, and even if you got excommunicated from the Church, it would be ok as long as you had him by your side. Your climax is a soft, quiet thing even as his has him stuttering and moaning out. Soon, he’s covering your face in kisses, and you realize that he’s crying; so you make sure to kiss each and every teardrop away.

The next day you feel like a truck backed over you. Papa I is clearly in no better shape the way he’s curled in on himself next to you. The feeling from the night before seems just within reach—even if trying to capture it again is like trying to hold fistfuls of sand. Papa is shaking, and you realize it’s because he’s crying, so you roll him into you, letting him bury his tears into your shoulder.

**Papa II** : His chosen love potion isn’t about making you love him at all—it’s about making sure you don’t love  _ anybody else _ . He’s going back on tour soon, and he can’t stand the idea that you may fall into another’s arms while he’s away. It’s the night before the before, and he has you strung up in cuffs, your toes  _ just _ about touching the floor. His teasing is making your twist and turn about, but to no avail. A gloved swipes at your nipple.

“And what’s this?” he asks.

“Yours, sir!” you gasp.

“And this?” he asks again as he squeezes your ass.

Again you respond that it’s his. He repeats his question as he teases every inch of your body. He finally gets to your pussy, tracing a leather finger down each lip before plunging in between your folds.

“And who belongs here?” as asks, now close into your ear as he fingers you.

“Only you, sir!” you cry out.

For once you don’t try to get away as he fondles you close to orgasm.  _ Close _ to orgasm. He removes his fingers from your clit and his body from yours just when you’re close to tipping over. You wine and try to twist toward him, but he’s just out of reach. There’s a crack on your behind, and then he’s asking you to stick out your tongue. He produces the bottle and puts two drops on your tongue before ordering you to swallow.

He leaves you then, only coming back intermittently to bring you close to climaxing, before leaving you again. You cry and beg for him, but he’s not swayed; he’s never swayed. The next time he comes back, it’s with a brother of sin—one you’ve openly expressed thirst for. The guy is pale, the whites of his eyes showing. Papa II pushes him toward you.

“Well, go on,  _ boy _ . Seduce her.”

He gives one, last, nervous look at Papa, before he’s in your space. His hands hover before finally settling on manipulating your nipples. And it’s all  _ wrong _ , it’s not  _ him _ —not  _ Papa _ . All you can feel is a strong revulsion toward this boy. You try to twist and squirm away from him—the look on his face pure misery—until Papa II calls out  _ Enough _ . He dismisses the Brother you once found so appealing—who all but hightails it in a cloud of dust—and comes over to pet and coo at you. He praises you and calls you his good girl. He covers your cunt with his hand.

“Now, my pet—whose are you?”

“Yours! Only yours, Sir!”

His finger slips into you, rests there.

“And whose commands do you follow?”

“Yours, sir!”

His finger begins to move, just a little.

“And if I command you to let a Ghoul administer this potion to you every 48hrs? Will you do so without resistance or complaint?”

“YES, SIR.”

His other hand grips you by the jaw and forces you to meet his two-toned gaze.

“Yes. I think you will.”

After that, he brings you to a screaming climax before he lets you down and fucks your pliant body. He’s nothing if not a stickler, so—after some aftercare and nap—he has you sign an amendment to your contract. You could have told him that his measures were unnecessary, but some part of you is thrilled that his affection for you hasn’t waned.

**Papa III** : He is all about sexual pleasure. Love schmove! Lust is his sin, baby, and he doesn’t need to worry about someone beating their chest and rending their garments because of him. He just wants to make you  _ feel _ good. He won’t say how he acquired it—and he uses it sparingly enough—but he has a love potion that can connect lovers intimately. He explains that you both have to take it and exchange … fluids … to connect, but when you inquire as to how it works, he just wiggles his fingers and singsongs,  _ Magic _ . He places several drops on his tongue, and you stick out your tongue, but instead of putting some on your tongue, he draws you into a deep kiss. He practically sucks your tongue into his mouth as his twists and tangles against your soft palate.

When he pulls away, spit strings still connecting the two of you, he says, “What? Did you think I meant other kinds of fluids?”

You slap at him, and he pretends that you’ve wounded him terribly, causing you to giggle. The two of you begin to hastily undress each other, hindered only by both of you pausing to nip and suck at each other’s flesh as it becomes uncovered. Soon enough you’re both naked and tangled in the sheets and each other. Papa III is a generous lover on his worst days, but tonight the two of you are eager to feel each other through this supposed bond, so the foreplay is a little rushed.

Even so, you’re still wet and ready to go when Papa urges you on top of him. You brace your hands on the heated skin of his chest as you sink down on his hard cock. And that’s when you feel it—a sudden spike of pleasure that you’re positive is not your own (being filled by his cock is always nice, but it usually takes a little more stimulation to get you as amped up as you suddenly feel). Your surprised moan is almost drowned out by the guttural one Papa III punches from his gut. You meant to ride the fuck out of him, but the feeling of his pleasure has your back arching and your head lolling sloppily.

Papa is suddenly upright and in your space, sucking at the exposed line of your neck. Your nails dig into his arms as he bounces you on his cock, and you feel the echo of the pained pleasure of it. Papa moans at the echo of your pleasure at his, and it’s not long before the two of you are raw nerves. You thought you’d both be going at it like rabbits, but the pleasure loop is making it hard for either of you to do anything but grind at each other in slow, deliberate circles. You have no idea how you’re barely moving and yet still such a vibrating, live wire.

The echo is getting closer, louder. You don’t think you’re moving at all, but still your arousal ratchets up and fills you from your curling toes to your open, silent mouth. You thought you’d be able to tell the difference between your pleasure and his, but right now you just  _ feel _ . You’re like a balloon, and your latex is beginning to stretch and strain. Eyes rolling back, all you can feel is the unrelenting pulse of pleasure as Papa pants and mewls into your skin.

The bubble bursting seems inevitable, but it’s still a surprise when you burst, and somehow this is the best and the worst part of the whole experience. It’s almost too much to feel, too much to comprehend, and you seize up as the white-hot, blinding light knocks all sense and thought from you. Someone’s screaming bloody murder—and at some point you realize it’s  _ you _ —but fuck if you care. Who even knows what sound Papa III is making, but you’re dimly aware of him mouthing at your shoulder.

It’s hard to tell how long the feedback loop goes on for, but when you begin to regain your senses, you realize that you’re on your side and clasped tight into Papa’s chest. And that’s as far as you get before the  _ exhaustion  _ hits you, and it makes sense—you are feeling everything double after all.

**Copia** : The problem Copia has is that before Ghost, he wasn’t in such high demand. He was by no means  _ celibate _ , but the sheer volume of offers just weren’t there. At first, he reveled in the attention—rolled around in it, and rubbed it all over himself—but the shine soon wore off when he began to realize some of his lovers only found his position with the clergy attractive. His wake up call was when—in the middle of heated foreplay—one of his conquests accidentally touched his pudge on the way down to his cock, and they recoiled in disgust. After that, Copia couldn’t stop seeing all the little tells when a lover wasn’t really into  _ him _ .

Obviously, on tour it doesn’t matter—the groupies are only there for the night, and even the hopeful initiates only really require one taking. But back at the Abbey, it’s a different story. Copia is now hyper aware that any Sibling who shows interest could be faking it. Which is why he uses a love potion on you. You, who were all blushes and ducked heads at first, but are now heated glances and lascivious touches. He just needs to be sure, so he finds a love potion meant to amplify feelings. 

Now, was that 2 drops or 3 …?

You show up at his quarters for a nightcap. It’s been a busy week, and the two of you have only had the briefest of interactions, so this is a welcome invitation. For some reason the drink goes straight to your head, and soon you’re looking at Copia like he’s a tall glass of water in the middle of the desert. You want him desperately, and you manhandle him into his bedroom. The desire to own him, to show him that he’s yours, overwhelms you. You order him onto the bed as you fish around in your drawer for your cock and a bottle of lube. He complies as you buckle your cock around your hips.

As you climb onto the bed, you press him down into the mattress. With lube-slick fingers you test his hole and prep him appropriately as he moans in pleasure. You drape yourself over his back to hiss into his ear, “You’re mine, Copia,” before you push your cock into him. He lets out a moan of ecstasy even as you push his face down into the pillow. Gripping his hips tight, you make sure your angle hits his sweet spot as you thrust into him. He’s scrabbling at the sheets, but you’re relentless in showing him how much you own his body with your cock. The closer he gets, the more grabby you get. Copia is panting and trembling—you can tell he’s close—so you turn on your vibration.

“You make me so fucking hot,” you growl.

With the help of your hand, he’s soon cumming hard—you following close on his heels. Even after your orgasm, the intense feelings of ownership don’t subside; you’re clutching Copia to you and rubbing your juices all over his skin. “Everyone should smell me on you,” you grumble as you try to meld into his skin while grabbing at his flesh. You end up falling asleep like that.

When you wake up, it’s to profound embarrassment—how could you act that way? Of course you don’t  _ own _ Copia. Why did you do that? He’s still dead asleep, but when you try to leave the bed, he wakes enough to draw you back to him. Feeling guilty, you try and bring up the night before with him—but he just snuggles you closer and says that he could never be mad at someone whose affection for him was true.


End file.
